<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>SHOW YOUR TRUE SELF by MadKingEdgar</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462078">SHOW YOUR TRUE SELF</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadKingEdgar/pseuds/MadKingEdgar'>MadKingEdgar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Akechi isn't a traitor AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Goro thinking too much about everything, POV First Person, Partial Rewrite, Rivalry, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:49:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadKingEdgar/pseuds/MadKingEdgar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s a reason why in a matter of seconds, I don’t feel as tense as when I entered the room hours ago and why I can feel safe enough to laugh joyfully in his presence. This kindness, this odd charm that he hides behind his wild hair and thick glasses blinds me to the painful truth that we are enemies."</p>
<p>Goro Akechi is a high school detective that finds himself increasingly close to uncovering the mystery behind Japan's "Phantom Thieves". The closer he gets to solving the case, the more and more he becomes entangled in a science-fiction class world of demons and roaring casinos which beg to release the pain inside of him.<br/>The bonds that he will make determine the changes in the story that was once so familiar to us.<br/>Will the ending be as satisfying?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro &amp; Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Okumura Haru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Person perception</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The game is over before it even gets going, it seems. His nimble fingers take the white marble king from his rightful place on the board and rolls it to the side, allowing it to fall from the board and stop with a clink against a cream coloured mug of steaming coffee. I hear a gentle hum from across the table, a sign of satisfaction that he had won yet another game. This lack of caring that he had just dismantled my entire five-step operation with ease angers me greatly, and to relieve the tension that releases itself through gritted teeth and itchy palms I take a gloved hand and lift my cup of coffee to my lips, making sure with my other hand that the king does not roll further away from us, setting it in the middle of the board as I pour the creamy brew into my mouth. Not quite as sweet as I like it. Maybe could do with one or two more sugars. The cup is set down as I finally feel the frustration move from my mind, with something else taking over. Determination, perhaps. I take my eyes away from the board, the graveyard of my master plan, to meet his eyes, the dark grey irises calmly stripping my soul of its secrets with ease. I was going to say something, going to do something, but I find myself analysing the boy in front of me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Person perception is a skill that is required in my line of work, and through the constant manipulation of human minds I have to attempt it isn’t rare for me to accidentally apply this to my time off. Hair is a usual indicator of how much care people take in grooming themselves, and it is so clear to see for every human that it isn’t hard to glance once and know very simple facts about them. His black hair is unruly, assumably uncombed, clearly stating that he has no true care for his appearance but the fact that the texture seems silky smooth does imply that he either has excellent natural locks or uses the finest in hair products while he washes it. Somebody’s clothes are also an easy way to determine many things, ranging from economic status, profession or effort put into daily preparation. A school uniform does nothing for me due to it being a Wednesday evening, we had both just returned from our respective places of learning. The glasses he wears seem to add to his harmless look, but if my suspicions are correct, and my experience from running into him during a few of his leisure activities, the frames he wears hold no medical properties. Just a hunch, of course, and this deduction has no real hold on any decisions I will ever make in the future, so I seal it away in the back of my brain with other useless information I possess. Such as the fact that he doesn’t like sweet things, and that he visits an airsoft shop at least once a month and leaves with several paper bags filled with what can be presumed to be model guns. Maybe that last fact might be worth looking into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Checkmate.” His quiet voice announces his victory to me, reminding me of the disgust that fills the bottom of my stomach when I face anything other than a perfect victory. Is it childish of me to feel nothing but pure rage at seeing my king stand in the middle of the board, as if his corpse was to be paraded in the town square after the complete failure that was his battle strategy? I’m starting to think that he can notice my spite, so I force my mouth into a surely unconvincing smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations are in order, then.” I pick up the white king and twirl him between my fingers, bringing him to his starting position. This time, I have to be careful, my aggressive moves made it easy for him to breach my poor defence and take me out. As I place my piece down, I notice that he remains still, arms crossed. “I don’t think whatever you’re thinking is going to outmatch my next strategy.” As I move to reset my rook, I hear him sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s enough for one day, Akechi-san.” The disgust in my stomach threatens to force itself up my throat as he speaks. I lose horribly and don’t even get another chance to secure tactical dominance over him? I prepare to take another sip of coffee to cope with my immature rage only to find it empty. Staring down at the dregs at the bottom of the cup, I allow my smile to drop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then perhaps another cup?” I spin the cup in my hand to reveal to him it’s contents, or lack thereof. “I insist on paying for this one of course.” I watch him nod and take it from me, glasses reflecting my own image back at me. As he stands I speak again, thankful for my memory serving its purpose. “I’ll have five sugars this time, if that is acceptable.” He nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ren Amamiya lives in the attic of a café in the backstreets of Yongen-jaya, one that was conveniently recommended to me by my partner in my latest criminal case, public prosecutor Sae Niijima. The convenience of her suggestion remains in the air, as the daughter of a cognitive scientist was adopted by the owner of this establishment, who also worked as a bridge between the federal government and her research lab. Considering the link between cognitive science and our latest case, spending more time at the cult favourite “Café Leblanc” might just be beneficial to my work. This small café consists of three booths and a counter, with a brewing station of sorts situated at the back near a cozy kitchen where meals were prepared for the customers who order them. Amamiya moves himself from the booth we played in to the brewing station behind the counter and prepares the various materials he will need, easily accessible due to our recent consumption of the coffee before our game began. I watch him carefully make two cups of coffee, using care that I had previously not considered capable of such a dull looking teenager. I suppose that living and working inside of a coffee shop with Sojiro Sakura definitely helped him learn and practice these skills on a day-to-day basis. I watch as he heaves several spoonfuls of sugar into what I can only assume is my cup, wincing as he does so. His own cup only takes one spoonful, making me chuckle to myself at our extreme difference in preference. The two cups are brought to the booth, placed on either sides of the chessboard - the graveyard of my “genius” tactics. I bow my head in appreciation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope that’s sweet enough for you.” Ren says, looking painfully down at my cup and visibly shuddering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a fan of sweet things?” I touch the cup with two fingers, the heat overpowering the protection of my gloves screaming at me that this beverage is not ready to consume yet. My fingers withdraw from the cup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not particularly.” He admits, adjusting his glasses so they sit further up his nose. “I don’t think I can even stand having one sugar in my coffee, to be honest.” I laugh at his comment. The room falls silent after that, the usually quiet boy in front of me returning to his normal volume. The television in the corner of the café had allowed itself to be drowned out during our game earlier, but now we both hear it clearly, Ren’s eyes glancing upwards at the screen. My own voice is played back to me, the words I am speaking giving me a reminder of the exact interview I took part in around a week ago. Despite being a prodigy in the detective field, an expert in deduction that has aided the Japanese police since I was 16, the only questions I get anymore are from my latest case on that group…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Phantom Thieves of Hearts. To my reluctance, I was asked by the head of the Special Investigations Unit (SIU) to take part in the investigation behind the group that were taking the country by storm. Their crimes are difficult to pinpoint, as some in power and the general populace wouldn’t even consider their actions a breach of any particular law made by mankind. A forceful change in a human’s behaviour that leads to a confession of heinous crimes is their MO, and it is always preceded by a “calling card”, a specially written letter to let their victims know that their hearts are about to be “stolen”.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If one didn’t see these things happen so quickly, it’d be easy for this to be tossed aside as a rumour, an urban legend created to scare immoral people into bettering themselves, but this is, for better or worse, as real as it gets. I’ve seen men like Junya Kaneshiro, the iron-willed head of one of Japan’s mafia groups,  have his spirit broken seemingly overnight, turning himself in and accepting punishment for what amounted to over a lifetime spent in prison. My first words on this subject, spoken on a television show in June before I was appointed to the SIU, were ones of concern over the ability to brainwash someone so thoroughly, and those words placed me in the public eye. With the rise in scale of their targets, this group (although there is a theory inside me that insists this is the work of a single individual masquerading as a group) have managed to secure not only popularity, but support from the citizens of Japan and the rest of the world. With this positive outlook on the Phantom Thieves, my own popularity seems to have dimmed, with some even going as far as threatening me with death for my comments made in the last few months.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ren watches the television closely for a while, but upon realising I am observing him, he moves his eyes back down to me. His unwavering expression doesn’t clue me on to his reaction of what he was watching, which pisses me off a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really see them as criminals, don’t you?” He says, taking a drink of his coffee. I might be able to detect just a hint of sadness in his voice, or perhaps it’s something else akin to disinterest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In the end, my personal feelings don’t matter.” I say, looking down at my own coffee, tempted to risk the boiling pain to satiate my sweet tooth. “The higher ups have condemned them as criminals, and I have agreed to apprehend them. Their actions, of course, leave much to be desired  in the way of defending human rights, but the ethical considerations are far from discussion right now. All we need to do is find out who they are.” I share what is mostly the truth. My personal feelings are the reason I was even assigned this case. The way that this group controls people, the way they bring people down to their own level of justice… Not only is that something I cannot agree with, the idea of this power extending to others who don’t share the same heroic motivations could lead to global disaster. If somebody with evil intentions obtained this power (I don’t want to call it that, but there is no other explanation), we could be dealing with an unstoppable murderer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s all it is? You’re just following orders?” Ren averts his gaze back to the television, where my fake persona continues to talk about the progress of the police to some poor announcer woman. “I didn’t think that was how justice worked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I take his words, despite the composed way in which he articulated them, as a bullet to the chest, derailing my train of thought and making me visibly wince. Is this how he sees it? I suppose I hadn’t considered that anyone would view my situation that way, but I’ll chalk it up to him not knowing every single detail. I mull things over as I look down at my drink, reminding myself of previous conversations we have shared since our meeting all those months ago. Advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis. Even though it is me that says that phrase often, I find it amusing that I fail to see the true quality in Amamiya’s piercing words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, the justice system is far from fairy tale in it’s condition.” My words draw his eyes towards me again. “I entered the system attempting to right the wrongs that were caused by the truly evil, but everyone has to awaken to the cold reality that when money is involved, justice matters not.” As I realise what I said has no real meaning in response to Ren’s statement, I feel my face grow warmer. Something that I can assume is embarrassment almost overcomes me, but I catch it in time to speak again. “What I was trying to say is that the ones in charge determine what is justice and what is not.” I take a long sip of my coffee before I can fumble with my words any further, relishing in the sweetness that it brings to me. Ren nods, and takes a sip of his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your own beliefs? Where do they factor in?” He questions me again, moving the cogs of my reasoning to come up with a satisfactory response. For the first time in what has felt like years I hear my voice grow cold as I reply to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The only reason I am kept around is so I can uncover the truth. There is no room for errors caused by my own misjudgement.” I don’t want to say this; the words spill out from my mouth like geysers of boiling water, threatening to injure those who linger in them for too long. Ren’s face drops slightly, if that was even possible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sit facing the door, which means that not only am I facing away from the television that sits in the corner behind me, but I am also in a prime position to see as the door to Leblanc opens. Three figures enter the café, all covered by the top of an umbrella that is being carried by one of them. Taking closer care to the ambience of outside, I notice that is in fact raining, making my trip to the station and walk home much more undesirable. The umbrella is closed and the faces of the newcomers are revealed to me. Curious about the ring of the bell and still on the clock as an apprentice at the café, Ren stands and turns to them very quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Holding the umbrella is an incredibly skinny man wearing the uniform of a school I can’t seem to name. If I couldn’t see his face clearly from across the room the blue hair would be a dead giveaway to his identity, that of the former Madarame pupil Yusuke Kitagawa. His master had leeched off of his students and sent some of them to their deaths, but he had confessed thanks to the work of the Phantom Thieves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing to his left is a shorter girl wearing the Shujin Academy uniform, whose features would give me enough clues to deduce who she was without already knowing her name. Makoto Niijima, sister to my current partner and an all around well behaved girl, her only brush with the extreme being an encounter with mob boss Kaneshiro before his apprehension by the Tokyo police. We have spoken several times, most of those being related to her sisters business and the other handful of times being small talk made across the hallway of our shared cram school. The third figure is also female, shorter than the other two, and it is a face I don’t immediately recognise. She wears a pink sweater, giving me the impression that she doesn’t attend school or doesn’t follow the rules, but the Shujin skirt she wears tells me it is either the latter or she simply put on the sweater after school ended. She has reasonably short, fluffy light brown hair and she wears an awkward smile on her face. Familiarity returns to me in a somewhat painful way as I remember who she is, and the conditions of our first meeting. Haru Okumura, heir to Okumura foods and third-year student at Shujin Academy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry for the intrusion.” Yusuke comments, staring daggers into me as he notices my presence. I need to find out whatever the hell I did to piss this kid off and apologise for it, for I feel he holds the potential to end my life on a whim based on his cold voice alone. Makoto approaches our booth and stops as she becomes certain just who is accompanying her kouhai, her face twisting in confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Akechi-kun?” She looks between Ren and me, as if she was trying to ensure a prank was not being pulled on her at this very moment. “I didn’t know you two were friends.” I am unsure as to whether or not she intends some sort of insult to that statement, but I let it fly; this social situation seems like it’s going to get weird very quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems to be an unlikely combination, but things work out just fine.” I quickly gather my things in my silver briefcase and stand to meet her, overshadowing her height by around 5 inches. “Sometimes Amamiya-san can be just what I need to get the deductions flowing.” Both Yusuke and Makoto seem stunned by this, which I inwardly laugh at. I turn to my recent chess combatant and bow slightly. “Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be going now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you stay?” Ren’s offer surprises me, stilling my movements as I slowly turn my head back to him. “The more the merrier, right?” I can feel my stomach churn and I force a sharp intake of oxygen to avoid sending my lunch all over the floor of this establishment. I fight hard with myself to say yes, to continue to talk with Ren and get to know his circle of friends better, but my weaker side wins and I shake my head, smiling as I return to my fake persona, one that I rarely have to don while alone with Ren.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really should be going, there are a few things I’m wanted for back at the SIU headquarters before the end of the night.” My words are only half lies, the things the SIU wants from me aren’t needed until my next meeting with the director, which could be anywhere from next week to next month depending on the progress of the investigation. I walk past Makoto and she and Ren say their goodbyes to me, and am faced with Yusuke and Haru, who stand in the doorway. Yusuke moves for me, standing next to the strange Sayuri look-alike painting, while Haru remains still, looking at my face with a slight grimace. She holds the umbrella in her hands, tapping it against the ground in no particular rhythm. My hands have begun to shake, or maybe it is only now that I have realised it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Akechi-san.” As she speaks I mould my body to fit in the space she has left between her and the door, turning the handle in an attempt to leave. She steps aside, but even as I face the cold streets of Yongen-jaya I can feel her eyes piercing the back of my skull. I feel desperation to leave, a longing for some place to hold up and wait out the storm that is my mind whenever I start feeling this way. I don’t know if distancing myself from others is a way to help me or prevent them from having to deal with it, but it feels like a necessity at this point. “Wait a minute.” I turn to see the umbrella pointed towards me, held like a weapon by the fluffy haired girl as the solemn look on her face threatens to tear me to pieces. “Take it. It’s raining out there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate it.” I stutter, taking the umbrella and stepping out into the rain before allowing it to open. There is a pink floral pattern on both sides of this thing, but it doesn’t stop me from using it to spare myself from the onslaught of water coming from the gods. As the door to Leblanc shuts tight, I can see the others inside, none but Haru looking in my direction. I turn and leave, heading towards the station. I get a few looks. I don’t care. I make a few turns down the familiar path to the train station, controlling my breathing carefully. There is something about what just happened that begs to be examined, but I need to calm myself first. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Realising the next train that leads anywhere near my apartment arrives in ten minutes, I allow myself time to rest against the cold wall of the station, closing my eyes and allowing my ears to take in the ambient soundtrack of people going about their daily lives. None of them have to deal with the things I do. None of them have this weight upon their shoulders at such a young age. Perhaps that is selfish thinking, but it is this thinking that allows me to keep from feeling overwhelmed. Something was off back at that café, and I curse myself for having to deal with a stress-induced attack at that moment. I repeat the conversations over and over in my head, combing them for any details that I may not have picked up on, but my memory provides me with no new answers. I grip Haru’s umbrella tightly-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then a loud cackle escapes my lips. Involuntary, but it feels good to let it out. Opening my eyes, I notice that a few people are looking at me, but I throw that aside to explore my newfound piece of information. Twirling the pink umbrella around in my hands, I suppress a smile that I know would be quite creepy is seen by an onlooker.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Haru’s umbrella.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Haru. The one thing I didn’t examine closely was why she was even at Leblanc in the first place. Sure, teenagers often find friendships in the strangest of places (as shown by my friendship with Amamiya), but I cannot allow that to stay separated from the rest of the facts. The circle of friends that surround Ren Amamiya is something that cannot be explained by pure coincidence, no matter how hard they attempt to deny it. Ryuji Sakamoto and Ann Takamaki were both victims of abuse from their schools PE teacher Suguru Kamoshida, and their lives were seriously benefitted by his arrest in early May. Yusuke Kitagawa was the pupil of Madarame, and his artistic career has furthered itself since the imprisonment of his master. Makoto Niijima is the one who is the hardest to explain, but if you consider the fact that I only saw her hanging around with Ren around the time of her meeting with Kaneshiro and his subsequent arrest, that explains itself. Futaba Sakura, the shut-in girl that lives with Ren’s caretaker is the daughter of world renowned scientist Wakaba Ishiki, her mother’s sudden suicide being the reason for her adoption. Each of them has a link, however big or small, to the Phantom Thieves case. I’ve known this for a long time, and my theory that they have a link to the group has existed for months now...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now they were hanging around with Haru Okumura. I check the fan-site for the group on my phone, cementing my recollection that her father, Kunikazu Okumura, is top of the list on their voting polls. I don’t think he has been targeted yet, but if he is targeted within the next few days then this all but solidifies my rising theory…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group that hangs around Ren, and even Amamiya himself… Could all be Phantom Thieves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If I take their association with Okumura-san as anything other than a once off meeting, then this means that her father is certainly on the list.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What does their expanding group mean, then? Do they plan things out to recruit new people or were these targets the chosen ones the entire time? I don’t know if either of those make sense, but they’re all I can muster in my current condition. I hear the subway announcer speak, signalling the arrival of my train, and I get off the wall, a newfound energy in my steps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I take a seat on the train, the usually empty compartment free with around ten options to choose from. An impatience wells up inside of me. I feel as closer than ever to closing this case, knowing that if I obtain evidence that supports my theory the victory will be mine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Victory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I take a second to think about what that means, exactly. I could count it a win when it comes to the public game of cat and mouse we have been playing, and their apprehension would indeed cause my popularity to surge if their crimes were proven in a court of law. On the other hand, it’s hard to actually consider this a competition. In some ways, I can think that these people just want to change society for the better, just want an escape from their daily lives to do some good in the world. If the people I suspect truly are the Phantom Thieves, is it truly just to punish them for trying to do the right thing?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And if I succeed in my case, this group will likely face prison time, years and years of their lives taken away. All because of me. If Ren truly is a Phantom Thief… This feels as though it is a betrayal of sorts. I admittedly have very little friends, and I consider Amamiya to be one of them, so if he ended up being the one I was chasing this entire time, it would be a hard case to close the book on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The invitation to stay back at the café feels more and more appealing to me as I sit on the train, freezing my butt off as I ponder the circumstances of the case. Haru’s presence is something I could have dealt with given time, and it would have been nice to sit and chat like nothing else mattered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I groan as I glance back down to the umbrella in my hands, realising that sooner or later, I will actually have to return this to the heiress of Okumura foods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before any sort of annoyance sets in, a plan takes shape in the depths of my mind, forcing me to cover my face to hide the wide grin that unexpectedly spreads across it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This umbrella may just be the perfect piece of the puzzle.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rejected hypothesis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Goro Akechi moves to test his theory that the Phantom Thieves are actually the group that surrounds Ren Amamiya.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There coincidentally exists a small café on the opposite side of the street to the headquarters of Okumura foods, one with plenty of seats outside to sit and enjoy the views of Tokyo as it approaches the wintertime. The view I aim for, however, is very particular, one that I planned to see days in advance. Across from the table where I sit and consume my coffee (which is nowhere near as good as the brew I can purchase at Leblanc), a crowd of teenagers stand outside the doors of the large building. They talk and hang out as if nothing strange was happening, though I suspect that may not be the case. Nobody who passes by seems to care about the likelihood of a bunch of kids finding Okumura HQ to be an entertaining place for conversation, but to me, this is highly interesting. Ren Amamiya and his group of friends stand there, almost as if they were waiting for something, unaware of the detective spying on them from across the street. As much as I feel a remorse inside of me as the evidence stacks itself upon my friend being involved with a group of effectively wanted criminals, the accomplishment of possibly solving another complex case excites me to the point where the tapping of my right foot is difficult to cease. I watch these teenagers, just far away enough that they likely won’t make out my observation from a first glance. I don’t know exactly what I am waiting for, but I hope that something will happen soon, someone will slip up and do something even slightly incriminating that would justify my actions today. The umbrella sitting on the table also brings a smile to my face, my self proclaimed genius plan working in motion, an effective method to test my hypothesis.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take me long to work out my scheme. Through the several years spent working as an accomplice to the Japanese police I have managed to practice the art of tailing a few times, and to my knowledge I have yet to fail. I set out to tail the leader of the Phantom Thieves, waiting patiently until I saw him interact with Haru Okumura once more. He met up with her at Shujin Academy, where despite it being a Sunday they were allowed inside for around fifteen minutes. They left the school for Shibuya and met up with the others that I have suspected. Following someone is a time-consuming and often dangerous method of obtaining information, and this is why I only used it as a last resort. With Kunikazu Okumura under the possible threat of being brainwashed by the Phantom Thieves, I had no choice but to take this chance. If for some reason I am caught, the umbrella borrowed from Haru will provide me an excuse for my actions. As long as the amount of time I was following them isn’t revealed, it will serve as a way to get out of the situation and rethink the plan, assuming I find no new information in the time before my detection.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I continue to watch for half an hour, in which I pay for my drink and consume the rest of it. As soon as it feels like I can relax and accept that this group has bizzare hang-out spots, there is a shift in mood, a sudden action that brings me to sit up and watch intensely. Almost all at once, each of the group pulls a cell phone from their pocket and stares at it intensely. For a few minutes they look down at their phones, expressions (from what I can see at my distance) focused on whatever lies on their screen. Has something popped up on the news? A tragedy? Have they changed a heart and now decide to revel in their success in the middle of a public place? Theories travel through my mind, each one making less and less sense than the last. If they are the Phantom Thieves, it wouldn’t be strange for them to all be looking at a piece of news related to them, in fact I’ve seen them react strangely to news about Medjed a few months ago. I look to the umbrella, and then back to the group, weighing my options. My impatience might just have gotten the better of me at this point, and the amount of time they’ve been doing nothing today just points to them either hiding their secret very well or just not being Phantom Thieves. It’s almost been three hours since my tailing began, and to be honest I am starting to hope that maybe I was wrong, maybe their friend group is just formed through major coincidence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I have to approach them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pick up the umbrella and stand, pushing my chair in before I leave, heading towards them at a brisk but somewhat casual pace. What’s my plan? I was going to drop the umbrella off at the headquarters and then saw Haru myself. I’ll then ask what they’re looking at and act as casual as possible. That’s a good enough excuse to-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As if a large pressure had just been applied to the back of my knees, I collapse, sliding across the pavement and dropping the umbrella. A sharp pain pinches the back of my head, causing me to almost cry out in agony. Have I been attacked? Am I having some sort of attack caused by a previously unknown medical condition?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Am I suffering a mental shutdown, like the others in the case I am investigating?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My mind makes desperate attempts to find answers, even as I curl up in a ball and gasp at the extreme nausea I have begun to feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it goes away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I let out another gasp of air. What in the world has just happened? It’d be best for me to find some medical assistance quickly, something could be seriously wrong. Looking up, however, I am met with…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chills are sent down my spine as I observe my surroundings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tokyo is gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If what I see is real and I haven’t just hit my head too hard and entered a state of delirium, I lay in the middle of a large hallway with odd circular patterns engraved into the cold floor, which no longer consists of the pavement, but now is a strange sort of metal. I struggle to control my breathing as the child in me freaks the hell out, mind breaking under the conditions that I have been placed in. I need to get myself under control, and fast. Looking behind me, I see that the hallway stretches out for quite a while in that direction too, meaning that it’s hard to tell which side I am closer to getting to the end of. How did I even get here? Nothing points to me having passed out… It just appeared as though there was an instant transmission. One minute I was in Tokyo, and the next…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I slowly stand up, my knees shaking as I scan my surroundings again. There are no windows to be seen, no noise from any direction. The walls and floor and strangely shiny, reminding me of something you’d find in a hospital. Is this a hospital? There are too many possibilities for me not to continue onwards and investigate. If I have been somehow abducted by a malice force, be it group or individual, getting to the bottom of this is a detective’s duty, no matter how much they want to sit in a corner and scream. I slowly walk forwards until I hear a loud click, sending me jumping backwards in shock. Looking down to where I suddenly feel pressure, I see a long pink umbrella resting on the floor next to where I had lain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell?” I pick the umbrella up. It seems to have been around the same distance from me as when I dropped it, so it’s not like someone took us both from the street and into this building… It’s more like this building replaced itself with the street? My theory of hallucination begins to grow more likely, but since the pain in my head has subsided I decide that insanity is more likely the cause. If I were to measure the likelihood of me having multiple mental illnesses, things wouldn’t turn out well, as my mother and other members of my family have suffered from more than one, each of them meeting poor ends either by drugs or suicide. I laugh out loud, sending a shiver through my body at the sudden outburst of emotion I feel at this very moment. Me? More mentally ill than previously established?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What else would explain this? The anxiety-based problems I face have never led to anything as strange as hallucinations. Furthermore, this all feels far too real, far too vivid to be a simple mirage. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I continue walking, more desperate than before to find out what is behind these strange occurrences. It doesn’t take me long to find something noteworthy. A circular prism shape stands in the middle of the hallway, with several strange rings indented into the surface, as though it was divided into three parts, with the middle of those divisions being the largest. On the highest one of these divisions is a small oval shape that is coloured blue, and as I approach cautiously I discover that it resembles a strange face, like a mask was placed on this trash-can shaped pillar. Things seem to be getting weirder and weirder as I continue onwards. I give this object a wide berth as I pass it, hoping to find some degree of success at the end of this hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Identification failed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I freeze up. Something just spoke behind me, it’s voice deep and artificially altered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Failure to verify identity will result in destruction.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning around, I come face to face with the horrific blue mask, it’s empty eye sockets glowing a bright red. As if this was a sci-fi movie, the pillar slides towards me slowly, gliding on an inch of thin air. I step back, heart pounding. I move faster than it, but as my back is turned I walk in dread of encountering another one of these… devices. Is this some sort of security device? I’ve never seen a thing like this outside the realm of fiction or highly expensive displays for future technology. Where the hell am I?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Target identified as intruder. Executing elimination protocols.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before I even have time to think, I am running. Sprinting down the hallway with umbrella in hand, I try my hardest not to look back in sheer fear of what may be happening. Does that machine have firepower? Lasers, if we are to go so far with this theory of evolved science? Does my assumption of what “elimination” means line up with it’s own?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t help it. I turn my head over my shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s right fucking behind me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look forward again and sprint as hard as humanly possible, forcing more energy into my legs than I ever have before. Yeah, I think it’s got the same idea. How the hell is it keeping up to me? What energy is propelling it forward is something that I can’t think about right now. My lungs are burning as I heave myself through this grey and white corridor, eyes focused ahead, where after a solid five, or what feels to me like ten minutes I see something other than more hallway. The door ahead of me has a symbol of two arrows, one going up and the other down, something that I can only really associate with an elevator. As I get close the doors open, split down the middle, and I slam myself into the back of it, a glass window to the outside supporting my weight. I turn back to the door and practically punch random buttons, each of them varying from a combination of numbers to a jumble of letters AND numbers, but it doesn’t matter. The doors respond immediately and shut quickly, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief as I feel the elevator start to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that was-” I choke on my words as the elevator shakes violently. I steady myself on the wall behind me. Another shake and a loud slamming noise, this time coming from right in front of me. The elevator doesn’t get the chance to leave the floor as another slam stops it completely. Something is banging on the door. Something is trying to get to me. I continue to slam the buttons, breathing heavily as I pray for these fucking buttons to serve their purpose. There is a break in the banging. I foolishly think that they have given up for a moment before a low, guttural noise creeps through the tiny gap in the middle of the door. Similar to a growl, or perhaps a noise straight from a zombie film. I slam the buttons harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Work, you piece of shit!” I resort to screaming at the machinery. What the fuck is going on here? Too much has happened, and is still happening, for me to even attempt to make sense of this nightmare anymore, but I can find some hope as the elevator bursts upwards, leaving whatever was behind those doors to screech out. I take a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I hear a muffled crash from behind me. Praying it isn’t that security force from earlier, I slowly turn, and in a few short seconds I can feel my heart sink. The stars are shining in the perfect darkness, millions and millions of them expanding around this one point in the universe. A glorious station constructed from various unrealistic materials and methods sprawls out for miles, filling most of my vision with a sight any human realistically believed they’d never see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m in fucking space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I went from the streets of Tokyo to outside the planet’s atmosphere in a manner of seconds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This can’t be real. Can it? Did Amamiya and his friends see what happened? Did they go through the same thing, perhaps?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes settle on the central sector of the station, the one with the most connections off of it, and I see the colourful image painted on the largest free space available between all of the doors and bridges. I don’t think I have time to question why the Big Bang Burger symbol is on this space station until I put the seemingly unrelated piece back into my convoluted puzzle. Is this linked to Okumura Foods? I was standing right outside of the building when I came here, so there has to be a link. Does Kunikazu Okumura have access to godlike technology capable of “beaming me up” to this station? Or perhaps the answer lies with the group I was tracking before I arrived here. I do not have a way to explain it, but this links to the Phantom Thieves somehow. My eyes find the source of the muffled crash, and now my heart thuds instead of sinking. A small segment of the station goes up in flames before my eyes, joining the blazing remains of the pod next to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emergency launch sequence activated. Certain areas may be shut off or destroyed.” The small speaker in the elevator spells out my doom as clear as day, or as clear as the space around me. The fact that this space station is blowing up is accepted without hesitation. This is the strange new scenario I have found myself in; I have to adapt. Another large portion of the ship is engulfed in flames, pieces of metal and glass joining countless other groups of space debris from the other destroyed areas. Am I next?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I need to get out of here. There has to be an escape pod system or something, right?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator door opens once more, and luckily for me I am not met with another long hallway. I step out into what appears to be a large balcony, a semi circle platform sprouting from the edge of the entrance to the elevator. This platform is large, with enough room for me to take around ten steps before I reach the railing. The view is consistent with that of the elevator’s window, the large space station continuing in other directions than just behind me. I can hear the distant sound of sirens, perhaps warnings of the current emergency that threatens to destroy the station. Another loud crash is heard, this time much more audible than inside, and I see the larger portion of the station shake. The Big Bang Burger symbol shatters, a hole opening in the side of the structure that allows for a look into that building (although a very distant one). That part of the station hasn’t been totally destroyed though, so it appears that some other force outside of the launch sequence has caused it. The pain in my head returns, this time from the strain of comprehending my surroundings, and I allow myself a few seconds to breathe whatever type of air that exists within the confines of this station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You made it up here. You escaped from the robot. You can get out of here.” I speak to myself in a commanding tone. Someone has to take control here. My time is wasted here, however, as there is no way down from here. I reluctantly turn to the elevator. Each second that ticks by is another second that is close to my impending doom in this station. Stepping back in, I press a few more buttons at random, hoping to find a way downwards that won’t send me to the same hallway as before. The doors shut again and I am sent downwards. There is way too much to think about right now, with the threat of impending destruction and being trapped inside of a strange fast-food company’s space station, but I still allow myself the pleasure of placing pieces into the puzzle of this mystery. If this technology is possible and I was so easily transferred here, what does that make the Phantom Thieves? Are they using highly advanced machinery to brainwash people? How connected are they with Okumura? The door opens after a few minutes and I step forward instantly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This hallway is wider, and has windows scattered along both sides of it. At the end I can see a circular room that holds several neon signs. This part of the room seems to extend into other hallways, making it appear as though it is the central point in this building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I am violently shaken again as a crash sounds out, this time above me, and I see literal chunks of the ceiling break off and plummet towards where I am standing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I should probably get out of the way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I begin to move, but with my eyes rooted upwards towards the white blocks of death I can know for certain that I’m not quick enough. I can force out a yell as my eyes instinctively close and my arms move up to cover my head, but a sudden impact on my body cuts me off, sending me sprawling across the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is considerably less pain than I had imagined. Perhaps that has something to do with the pressure having come from beside me, not above me. More crashes fill the room; I think more of the ceiling has come down now. The crashes stop and I wait for several seconds, eyes still closed and leaking tears. When I find the courage to open them, everything is dark. A distorted siren sounds in the distance, mostly covered up by the sounds of what I think are fiery explosions. Maybe the lights have blown out or maybe my optic nerve was damaged in the fall, but the room lacks much of the light that had brightened it seconds ago. I don’t seem to be damaged, but a question lingers in my mind. How did I get out of the way? What hit me from the side?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I push myself up and look to where I had been struck from, only finding the outline of rubble on the ground that would’ve surely crushed me. I step closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shattering bang deafens me for a second, and a spark flickers against one of the pieces of white metal lying upon the ground. It was almost as if a small brush of wind touched my neck for a second, sending shivers down my back. Acknowledging that this is likely another explosion (perhaps even the last), I turn around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fire. Blue fire. It surrounds a blurry shape, blinding me for several seconds as I attempt to adjust to the insanely bright combustion. The shape approaches me now, moving with a sway that can only be attributed to a human being. Their hand, if the assumption of being human is correct, is outstretched to me, and I hesitantly go to take it, despite their distance from me being large.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another blast. Another brush of wind. My ears continue to ring even worse than before. I try to speak but stop as I find that my own voice is inaudible at this point. The hand is not outstretched at all, and the realisation of what is happening leads me to curse the fact that my eyes do not work like those of a cat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think I’m being shot at, and the gun-shaped object in this figures hand leads me to understand that my deduction is 100% correct. Another blast. It comes closer to me, this time, I see it bounce off of the wall nearest to me and I yell out, still inaudible to my ringing ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good idea to run.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pivot on my heel and leap towards the pile of rubble, scaling it to the best of my ability. It’s a tall pile but I manage to scramble to the top in record time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Little known fact about Goro Akechi: On my days off, I go bouldering. Climbing rocks without a harness is easy due to the amount of hours I have spent doing it, but something they don’t cover in the training is how stressful that can be while being fired upon with a pistol.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I tumble down the rocks, not taking the care to climb down properly, and scramble to the entrance of the elevator. History repeats itself as I slam my hands down on the buttons, this time making my hand throb in pain as I do so. Entering elevators during emergencies is a very dangerous idea, but it’s either this or execution by gunshot, so I take my chances. At least I’m safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glass behind me shatters as another shot is fired, and the doors decide to now take their time closing as I see the figure heading towards me, having quickly scaled the debris. Now my eyes have adjusted I realise that I can’t make out any facial features, just a dark mask with thick black goggles that seem to let off a dim light from within. The figure wears a strange cape, but the specifics of the outfit aren’t something I’m keen on observing as I continue to bang on the elevator’s buttons. The black masked figure gets closer, and I know that at point blank, he isn’t likely to miss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get me fucking out of here!” I punch the elevator door once more and it’s my brain’s fun little idea to tell me to focus on the fact that I’m sweating like a damn pig. My hair sticks to my face, my clothes cling to my skin in a way that feels utterly disgusting and I let out a laugh at the fact that I even care right now. I look away from my soon-to-be killer. If I’m going to die, I’m not giving them the satisfaction of seeing the light leave my eyes. The phone in my pocket buzzes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Returning to the real world.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I see red as everything melts away - both of those things are meant literally, my environment begins to swirl and droop as if it was melting wax. I step back calmly, accepting this as just another drawback of my experience. Expecting to hit the broken window behind me, I am surprised when I continue walking, getting further and further away from the elevator door as I could have given the space allowed to me inside. A pressure is felt on my right shoulder and I jerk to meet it, finding an unfamiliar face staring me down. The man with his hand on my shoulder is elderly, maybe in his late 60s, and has a golf cap on his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you right there, son?” He asks, looking behind me quickly before returning his gaze to me. I turn my head to follow his previous line of sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tokyo is back. I’m back. Despite whatever the hell just happened, I’m safe. I fumble with the phone in my pocket with shaky fingers, doing everything from accidentally opening the weather app to fumbling the camera app and snapping a picture as I try to get to my homescreen. My mind is a blur, and the pain is only just starting to die down. All I want to do is call for help, call the police and get them to investigate whatever the hell just happened to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re back too. I can see them standing together, Haru holding her knees and seemingly catching her breath. I can see Makoto holding her arm, wincing in what I think to be pain, and the others talking amongst each other. Ann approaches the group from behind a set of bushes and I double-take. Was she really not there the whole time?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, thank you.” I look to the old man. “Just a bit dizzy, that’s all.” The old man smiles at me and returns to his business. The group at the front of Okumura Foods stand there, recovering as if they had just been through a marathon, some of them nursing wounds. This eliminates any doubts in my mind that they have something to do with what just happened. They were either there or they are the ones responsible for taking me there. I slowly turn away from them and make my way down the street. Maybe the police are not the right people to call right now. The ringing in my ears remains. The sting of my knuckles from the steel of the elevator hasn’t gone away. My mind isn’t working, and I have no real direction. I just need to get away from here, from there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I have no way of knowing exactly what was real. The sweat still clings to me as it did moments ago, but the logic that I have relied on for the past 18 years of my life tells me otherwise, tells me that this has to be some kind of grave misunderstanding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I discard that logic. It obviously has no use to me anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paranoia: characterised by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organised system. May be an aspect of chronic personality disorder, drug abuse, or of a serious condition such as schizophrenia in which the person loses touch with reality. I simplify it using terms found by a simple google search, but this feeling is not one that is alien to me in my lifetime. I have always felt this paranoia, despite everything I knew telling me I was the one in the wrong. But now things are different. What happened in that space station was delusion, and the aftermath of that left me unable to sleep well for the last few nights. I started seeing things in my peripheral vision, hearing the groaning of that creature in the elevator everywhere. It got so bad that when I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water in the late hours of the night, I could’ve sworn those goggles stared me down from the entrance of my apartment.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>All of this is madness, of course. It can’t be real. The pieces come together, one at a time, and I find myself unable to even look at them. Perhaps Lovecraft, somewhere in his convoluted writings, was right about the way the mind works. When faced with such incomprehensible facts, the mind is fragile. It breaks. There can’t be a strange new app on my phone that refuses to be deleted and no virus scan will detect. I can’t have been attacked by a robotic creature in the hallway of an exploding space station.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was real. I know it was. In the two days since my venture into the dark abyss, I have kept a close eye on the Okumura household, monitoring the father and daughter to the best of my ability. Every meeting, every social media post, every purchase made by either of them is all within my grasp, but I find nothing of note, no matter how hard I push my high ranking detective privileges. The only reason I’m not parked in front of the television right now waiting for Kunizaku Okumura’s press conference is that my work obligations are calling, and I need to keep up appearances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When have I ever referred to my job like that? I enjoy what I do and treat every single case as a precious learning experience. Don’t I?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe I should have called in sick. There’s something seriously wrong with me. I can’t focus on anything other than what I saw, my recollections of that horrifying experience. Is this PTSD? I’ll write it off as a no for that one. For now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m back.” A voice stirs me from near-sleep, my eyes blinking open and turning to see the figure that had just entered this small office. The tall woman stands behind me, holding a plastic bag with several containers inside. “I thought you’d be hungry, so I got us some sushi.” She walks around me to get to the other side of the desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Sae-san.” I bow my head to my partner as she places the bags on the desk and sits opposite me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should be thanking you, Akechi-kun. You’re the one who goes out of his way to assist me with the small stuff.” There’s a rare smile on her face as she unpacks the bags, one that spreads to me like a contagion. “It’s late and we’ve been working on this for a few hours now, it’s only fair that I keep the teenager well fed.” Two trays of delicious-looking sushi are placed on the table, an assortment of fresh fillings available for my consumption. Sae takes a small can from the bag and discards the plastic before handing the can to me. “You said you liked this brand, right? I saw a machine on the way back and thought it would help work past the bout of insomnia you mentioned.” I turn the can in my hands. Iced coffee. I thank her again before we both dig in to the meal in front of us. The files we worked on remain out of sight for this moment in time, a reward for the hard work we had to put in. It’s the least appetising thing about police work, having to file every fact away to ensure that the law is followed to the letter. Small talk follows, the two of us discussing the menial goings-on in our lives. I always remain brief about my family, but the amount of times we’ve done this has outweighed my care for keeping secrets, so Sae remains one of the few people who know to avoid that area of conversation. Of course, the chatter leads to the usual, more boring topics, such as education and work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is school going?” Sae pushes silver hair out of her eyes as she looks up from her food. “Missing so much due to work can’t be good for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I smile reassuringly. There is no happiness in me, just a desire to please. “Things are going fine. I remain the top student in almost all of my classes and place number two on the national practice exams.” I fiddle with my chopsticks. It’s lucky for me to even be number two in anything, but the fact that I’ve been so closely defeated in something triggers the perfectionist inside myself, alongside the angry child. “I’d hold the number one spot if not for…” I trail off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Makoto.” Sae smiles, fondness in her eyes.. “I’m glad you’re both putting in the effort. School isn’t easy, and getting to the top takes great willpower.” I begin to respond to her, but my words are cut short by rapid knocks on the door behind me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Officer Sanada enters quickly without being welcomed inside, panic on his brow. He looks between the two of us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Okumura Foods press conference! Something’s going on!” While his words snap Sae into action, opening her laptop and speed-typing the streaming website’s address, I am frozen. Even after he leaves the room and I hear the audio of her laptop, I can do nothing but stare at the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Akechi, look at this.” Sae snaps me out of my daze and I slowly turn to the laptop’s screen. Sure enough, Kunikazu is there, speaking to the camera with a solemn expression upon his face. He answers questions from the press, admitting to… mistreating his workers? As much as I can attempt to recall certain allegations made a while back, I am too stunned by the reality of this situation. The Phantom Thieves triggered a change of heart… Days after I entered that space station. Coincidence has been eliminated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a critical piece of information to announce here today.” Okumura speaks from his podium, closing his eyes and breathing in. Sae-san and I wait, eyes not daring to move from the screen in fear of missing absolutely anything. Okumura opens his mouth to speak. His eyes widen and his hand clutches his chest in a panic. The man lurches over, face hidden as he hunches over the podium in front of him and makes a sound similar to a cough. For a few seconds he stays like that, and the crowd can be heard questioning his strange behaviour. I glance to Sae-san as if I was looking for some sort of answer, but find her just as perplexed as I. Okumura pushes himself upwards, facing the camera once more. I cry out in pure shock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thick, blackened blood pours from the sockets of his eyes, which have rolled back into his head. His mouth is agape and a sound of pain is gurgled before the screams of the audience are heard. He slowly sinks off the podium, collapsing to the ground with a thud. The video feed is cut off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This has to be them.” Sae stammers, closing the screen of her computer. She looks to me. “The Phantom Thieves did this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve seen what happens to someone after this has happened. Their brain ceases to function and soon they enter a state of cardiac arrest which is impossible to recover from. I’ve never seen it happen in person, but the meaning behind this is clear. The pieces of the puzzle I refused to look at before taunt me over and over, revealing a wicked truth to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somebody triggered a mental shutdown. Kunikazu Okumura is dead.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Second chapter done! I enjoyed writing about experiencing Okumura's palace as it self-destructed, and having Goro freak out was entertaining to think about.<br/>This story will likely be a longish one, with a romance plot and some more drama down the line. I hope you guys enjoy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>